Love, and Briefly a Panda
by BeautifulPhoenix
Summary: When Reid doesn't show up for work, Morgan goes over to his house and gets a little more than he bargained for but not too much, because this story is compliant w/rules against explicit content . Basically: a shower, some confessions, a little steaminess. There's not really a panda. First Criminal Minds fic. Rated for a little language and for implied sexual situations. Yep.


The Panda Sees Everything

For once in his life, Derek Morgan was actually completing old case files. The thick sheaves of paper sat largely undiminished on his desk, and he slumped into his chair. He had just finished the second, and an ungodly number of them remained before him, taunting him with their volume. He sighed and stretched his stiff back, then passed a hand across his tired face. He checked his watch and sighed again: 8:12 pm. It was then that Penelope Garcia walked through on her way to get a coffee, and stopped short as she noticed what he was doing.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be saving someone's ass right now, or doing something appropriately heroic? I thought this was Reid's job."

"You're telling me," Morgan said absently. "Pretty Boy didn't show up for work today, so I got handed the old case files."

"And you're just going to stand for that? Please. Go hunt him down; you know where he lives."

Morgan looked for a moment as though he were considering it. Then he shook his head. "No, Garcia, I can't do that. I'm sure he's got a good reason for taking off. Maybe he's sick. Maybe he's depressed. Maybe – please, God – he's with a woman."

They looked at one another for a moment, then Morgan acquiesced. "Ok, ok. He's probably not with a woman." They laughed.

"Well," Garcia said, "you could always go cheer him up with your awesomeness. Make him some soup or something."

"Do I look like the man's personal chef, Baby Girl? Please." But the abstracted expression on Morgan's face suggested that he was, in fact, considering it. After Penelope had left, he looked around the office – now deserted – and sighed. Then, resignedly, he picked up the massive stack of files and headed out to his car.

The lights were on in Reid's apartment; Morgan could see them through the surprisingly tasteful curtains that hung over the three windows. He walked slowly up the stairs, muscles sore from a chase two days previously. He was letting himself go soft, he mused as he approached Reid's door, 221. He stopped in surprise as he heard the strains of Beatles music floating out of the apartment. He smiled to himself; he hadn't known Reid was a Beatles man.

He moved to knock on the door, but stopped. He still couldn't shake the possibility that Reid was with someone. But he laughed this off as impossible, and rapped sharply on the door. There was no answer from within. He knocked once more, and when Reid did not answer, Morgan turned to go. Then he thought to try the door knob. It was unlocked.

Morgan stepped into the familiar apartment and closed the door behind him. It was well-lit, simple but tasteful in its décor. He grinned to see the panda bear coffee pot he had given Reid years ago occupying a place of honor on the counter. In laughing, he almost forgot that he was in Reid's home without permission.

It was when he heard his friend's voice floating from the shower that he remembered. Morgan froze. That was Spencer's voice, singing tunefully with the Beatles' song. He decided to wait on the couch for his friend to finish jamming to "Let it Be" and get out of the shower.

This plan might have worked, had it not been for the following combination of factors: the proximity of the couch to the bathroom door (Morgan could hear every sound from within); the abrupt end to the Beatles record; and the soft, low moans that began to issue from the direction of the shower. Fuck. Reid was jerking off.

Morgan was torn. He wanted to talk to Reid, but he wasn't sure if he should leave and return. He was very conscious of the fact that he was invading Reid's privacy, but he was also having a difficult time concentrating. It was hard to think straight with Spencer's breathy "oh" echoing in his head. He was about to walk away from the situation when Spencer's moans intensified; Morgan froze.

"Oh god. Oh god, yes. Oh please, right there." And then, most shockingly, "Derek!" Morgan jumped, thinking Spencer had somehow detected his presence, but he soon realized his error as Spencer continued to moan his name. "Derek, god yes. Oh god."

Oh god, indeed. Morgan was inundated by a milieu of emotions, none of them simple. He wanted to walk out of the room. This was inappropriate. Reid was his coworker and the both of them were ostensibly straight. Especially Morgan. Morgan was trying to convince himself to leave, to forget Spencer's words, to resist the impulse to jump in the shower with him. At least until he heard the shower turn off and the wet slap of a body against the shower wall, coupled with Reid's heavy panting and the "schick, schick" of the water against his pumping hands.

Morgan groaned quietly and surrendered. He sat on the couch, taking his own throbbing erection into his hands. He was moving in time with the whispers that came from Reid, and his own breathing was getting heavy as he labored to keep quiet. Morgan was hot and breathless; the moans were driving him crazy.

And then suddenly, calling Derek's name, Reid came, shuddering and moaning. And then Morgan heard the quick rain of the shower, which cut off far too abruptly. Then the water-slick pats of feet against first shower stall, then tile. Shit. Reid was out of the shower, and still he hadn't finished. He moved faster now, desperately racing to climax as he heard Reid moving about in the bathroom. But when he heard Reid doing up his zipper, Morgan realized that he wasn't going to make it. So he tucked everything away, rapidly fixing his zipper and attempting to hide the fact that he had a mammoth erection by covering his lap with, of all things, a couch cushion. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to calm his body. _Think, Morgan._

He mentally rehearsed his speech: _just got here, Spence. All these files from work. Sorry to barge in, but…"_

The brass door knob turned. All of the excuses died on his lips as Spencer emerged, dripping wet and shirtless, looking pleasingly fucked. His face was still flushed. He wore only a pair of tight jeans that hugged his – my God, how had Derek not noticed before – truly incredible ass. He was humming something, but the moment he saw Derek he fell silent; his face passed through at least six shades of red. Derek just watched him, lips slightly parted. Spencer looked embarrassed and flustered. Derek tried to make his excuses:

"Hey, Spence, sorry to barge in. I just thought I'd-"

Spencer still looked stricken, and so Derek sighed and got up from the couch, hoping against hope that Spencer wouldn't notice the bulge in the front of his jeans. He walked over to the young man, stopping when he was only a few inches away from Spencer's face. "The Beatles? You get off to the Beatles?"

Spencer gasped and turned away from Derek, running his towel nervously back and forth through his hands. Then he turned to face his friend, backing away a few steps as he did so. "God, Morgan, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean- this wasn't supposed to- I mean, you walked into my house! This is not my fault, right?"

Derek frowned. "I mean, yeah, this would be pretty cut-and-dried if it weren't for the fact that that was my name you were screaming." Reid gulped. Yes, Morgan had a point there. Sighing, still flushed and flustered, Reid motioned to the couch. Morgan sat. Spencer did not; he paced around the room nervously, then stopped and faced Derek. He had evidently decided that full disclosure was the way to go.

"No one knows I'm bisexual," Reid said quietly. Derek watched him, trying to be supportive. "Not mother, not anyone at work, no one. It was too much as a kid, you know? I didn't want to add that to the list of things that was wrong with me." He tucked his hair nervously behind his ear and fiddled with his towel some more. He stood staring at the floor and there was silence for a few long moments, then Reid continued. "And about that" – he motioned toward the shower room – "I'm so sorry. I never intended to tell you how I felt, because I recognize the impossibility of it all. I just- I've had a thing for you for a while and- I'm sorry, Morgan."

There was silence as Morgan processed this information. Then, "When you say 'a while'…"

Reid bowed his head, mumbling "Six years. I mean for about six years." He turned away and let the few teardrops hanging in his eyes fall silently.

"Hey Reid?" The inquiry was quiet, gentle. Spencer didn't answer. "Spencer." Derek's voice was quiet and husky now. Spencer remained facing away, but whispered a very tiny "yeah?"

Derek stood from the couch and walked over to Spencer. Before he knew it, Spencer was wrapped around by tender chocolate arms, buried in Derek's good good scent (spicy), with the man's breath tickling his ear. And then Spencer was sobbing outright, heaving chest pressing against Morgan's interlocking arms. He stayed that way, trying to absorb everything about this embrace, then pulled away, turning to face his friend.

"Morgan, please don't touch me when you don't mean it; it's too hard. I'm trying to get over you, you know. I just- the casual touches, they're not helping." Morgan was silent, and the look of pain and despair on Reid's face wrenched his heart. He put his hands on Reid's shoulders. His voice was quiet, dangerous, husky.

"Reid, I'm not playing you." Morgan's voice was dark and his eyes smoky. His friend looked at him with incredulity, seeming not to understand.

"Wh- what?" Spencer asked shakily.

"Pretty Boy, I'm always touching you because it's the closest I can get to your hair-" he ran his fingers gently through Reid's hair; "-or your face-" here a gentle caress; "or your collarbone-" a tiny kiss across the accentuated clavicle; "or your fingers" – here several damp kisses trailing up one of Spencer's long, artistic hands; "or your lips." And with that, Morgan moved even closer, lifting the younger man's chin with a finger and looked deeply into his eyes. He brushed one rough thumb across the soft expanse of Spencer's lips and had to suppress the moan that rose to his own lips: this was not about how much he wanted Spencer. This was just about making Spencer Reid understand how fucking beautiful he was. And so, sweetly and gently, he pressed his lips to those of the younger man.

The kiss was reassuring and chaste, but that did not stop Morgan's pulse from racing, and when he pulled away he felt for a moment as though he might pass out. Spencer was still sobbing when Morgan pulled away, but now it seemed that the tears were joyful. He reached tentatively for Morgan's hand, and slowly, as if discovering his friend centimeter by centimeter, slipped his pale fingers through the strong, dark ones. Morgan laughed and placed a kiss on the top of Spencer's head.

"But Morgan," Spencer reminded him, "you're straight." Morgan laughed aloud, tousling Spencer's hair, and they sat on the couch together.

"Kid, straight is such a black and white term. I mean, I like being with women – I like it a lot – but I've been with a man or two."

Spencer hung his head. "Right. So basically, straight." He sounded dejected.

This kiss was neither gentle nor chaste. Morgan's lips were urgent and raw, and soon his tongue was begging entrance to Spencer's mouth. His hands were roaming Reid's body, from his chest to his stomach to his long, slender back. Derek pulled him up from the couch by his shirt-front because he desperately wanted to be closer to Reid, wanted their chests and their thighs and their shoulders made inseparable. For a moment he tried to hide his still-painful hard on from the boy, not wanting to scare Spencer away. But when Spencer began to react to his kiss, bringing one hand to the back of Derek's neck and toying with his bottom lip, Derek yielded, moaning into the kiss and bucking his hips into Spencer's. At the feel of Derek's hard cock against him, Spencer gasped, and Derek took the opportunity of the broken kiss to lift Spencer's chin and peer into his beautiful eyes. Reid panted and ran his tongue over his own bruised lips, looking pleasantly ravished. Morgan grinned wolfishly and his voice was deep and seductive. "Still think I'm straight?"

Reid trembled with delight. "N- n- no. Definitely not."


End file.
